Part 5 (1/2)

But at length his strength began to return to him a little, and then for the first time poor Tiny discovered that he was blind. And all the days and weeks that came and went were like one long, dark night. In those dreadful days our singer had nothing to do but to think, and the little beggar girl had nothing to do but to beg; for Tiny's charity and goodness of heart seemed to have all forsaken him, and one day in his anger he drove her out of his garret, and bade her return no more, for that the very thought of her was hateful to him. In doing this, Tiny brought a terrible calamity upon himself; he fell against his harp and broke it.

After that, while he sat pondering on the sad plight he was in, hungry and cold and blind, he suddenly started up. A new thought had come to him. ”I will go home to my father's house,” he said. ”There is no other way for me. Oh, my mother!” and bitterly he wept as he p.r.o.nounced that name, and thought how little like her tender and serene love was the love of the best of all the friends he had found in that great city of the world.

As he started up so quickly in a sort of frenzy, his foot struck against the broken harp, and instantly the instrument gave forth a wailing sound, that pierced the poet's heart. He lifted up the harp: alas! it was _so_ broken he could do nothing with it; from his hands it fell back upon the floor where it had lain neglected, forgotten, so long. But Tiny's heart was now fairly awakened, and stooping to the floor, he raised the precious treasure again. ”I will carry back the broken fragments,” said he; ”they shall go back to my father with me. The harp is his; I can do nothing more with it for ever. I have ruined it; I have done nothing for the world, as I promised him. A fine thing it is for me to go back to him in this dreadful plight. But if he says to me, 'Thou art no son of mine,' I will say, 'Father, I am no more _worthy_ to be called thy son; make me thy hired servant--only pay me in love.'”

And so saying, Tiny began to descend from his attic. Carefully he went down the stairs, ready to ask help of the first person whose voice he should hear. But he had groped his way as far as the street door, before he met a soul. As he stepped upon the threshold, and was about to move on into the street, a voice--a child's voice--said to him--

”I'm very hungry, sir.”

The patient tone of the speaker arrested Tiny's steps, and he pondered a moment. It was the hearts that belonged to voices like this, which he had vowed to help! His own heart sunk within him at that thought.

”Wretched soul that I am,” said he to himself, thinking of the opportunities which he had lost. But to the child he said--

”I'm blinder than a bat, and hungry, too. So I'm worse off than you are. Do you live about here?”

”Just round the corner,” said the little girl.

”Is there a physician near here?” he asked next; for a now thought--a new hope, rather--had come into his heart.

”Yes, sir--very near. I know where it is,” said the child. ”I got him once for my mother.”

”If you will lead me to him,” said Tiny, his voice broken as his heart was, ”I will do a good turn for you. You won't be the loser by it. Who takes care of you?”

”Of me, sir?” asked the girl, as if surprised that he should think that any one took care of her. ”n.o.body. I'm all alone.”

”Alone! alone!” repeated Tiny: ”your hand is very little; you are a mite of a girl to be alone.”

”They're all dead but me, every one of 'em. Yes, sir, they are.”

”No mother?” said Tiny, with a choking voice--thinking of the kind heart and tender loving eyes away off in the lonely little cottage on the border of the forest--”no mother, little girl? Was _that_ what you said?”

”Dead,” replied the child.

”Did you love her?” asked Tiny, the poet, while his heart wept burning tears.

The girl said not a word, but Tiny heard her sob, and held her hand close in his own, as though he would protect her, even if he were blind, while he said aloud--

”Lead me to the physician, little friend.”

Quietly and swiftly she led him, and as they went, Tiny never once thought, What if any of the great folks who once courted and praised him should see him led on foot through the streets by a little beggar girl, himself looking hardly more respectable than the poorest of all beggars!

”Shall I ring the door bell?” asked she, at length coming to a sudden halt.

”King it,” said he.

But before she could do that the house door opened, and the physician himself appeared, prepared for a drive; his carriage was already in waiting at the door.

”Here he is,” exclaimed the girl; and at the same moment a gruff voice demanded--

”What do you want, you two, eh? Speak quick, for I'm off.”

In one word Tiny told what it was he wanted.